


twenty four

by schwifty_rick



Category: Angst - Fandom, Incest - Fandom, Rick and Morty, ish - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:36:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6284803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwifty_rick/pseuds/schwifty_rick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>rick had twenty four scars on his arm. morty knew this implicitely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	twenty four

**Author's Note:**

> smut with a bit of narrative.

There were twenty four scars on Rick’s left arm. Morty knew this implicitly, quicker than he could remember the first four digits of pi, or even his older sister’s birthday. He knew that a lot of them were tiny, faded, blended against the ashen skin. The faint blue hairs that tickled his arm were more visible than some of these scars. Yet Morty sought them out.

He sought out the stories behind them. Some of them Rick remembered fondly, others he didn’t remember at all. Some provoked a tight-lipped angry response that would ruin the mood and make a lump rise in the back of Morty’s throat, embarrassed for asking.

It was a game he played, some creating positive experiences, where he felt closer to Rick afterwards. And others pushing him further and further away from this man who was his grandfather, but more often than not was a complete stranger.

This man had lived his entire life before Morty was even born. His eyes, tired, glazed over and jaded, had seen more than Morty could even fathom. It was upsetting to think that there wasn’t much that could shock Rick. Not much he hadn’t seen.

Morty lived for the moments when he could get a reaction from the old man. That’s why, when Morty’s lips curl around the base of his grandfather’s cock, feeling the velvety tip nudging the back of his throat, Morty holds down the gagging sensation just a second longer in favor of watching Rick’s brow furrow in concentration, mouth parting slightly. Morty swallows, the flat of his tongue caressing the underside of Rick’s shaft. He is certain that Rick had experienced better. Fuck, he’s only a teenager with no experience sucking dick before. But the fact that it’s him, Rick’s own grandson, swallowing him whole and bringing him over the edge…well there was nothing more shocking than that.

Morty wondered if that was why Rick chose him. Because it was the only thing left he hadn’t done.

He snorts, thinking of Rick crossing this off his bucket list. Fuck my grandson. What an accomplishment. He pulls away, thick trail of saliva connecting his tongue to Rick’s dick. He feels it throb in his grasp and gives it a tug of reassurance.

“You’ve been watching too much porn, Morty.” Rick says offhandedly, hands threaded in brown hair, pulling.

"Wha-“

"Did you see me pause for air when I was going down on you? No? T-Then fucking get to it.”

The younger boy huffs, but obliges, dipping his head back down.

“Fuck, just…just like that…”

If it weren’t for the fact that Morty couldn’t breathe, he might’ve gagged just from the smell of musk alone. Rick’s scent is strong and tangy, yet Morty can feel his dick throbbing to life from the smell alone. His fingers slick across the shaft, moving lower to cup the balls. He feels Rick shudder, hips jerking forward in response. Rick’s balls clench in his grasp, tightening and contracting when -

Strong arms yank him up, and Morty finds himself momentarily disoriented. He’s forced into his grandfather’s lap, boxers damp from the feeling of Rick’s wet cock sliding against his own through the thin material.

Instinctively, he rolls his hips forward, seeking out some friction to ease the ache.

“Fuck, Morty. You little - you little slut. You’re so fucking hard for your grandpa’s dick even though I just sucked you o-”

“Shut up, Rick.” Morty bites, gripping the older man’s shoulders tightly. He drags his head forward and presses his lips against Rick’s rougher, chapped ones. Initially, Morty used to be much more careful about this, worrying that he might split Rick’s lip open from the movement. But now, if that were to happen, he knows this would only add fuel to the fire rather than extinguish it. 

If there was one thing that Morty learned throughout this whole ordeal, it was that Rick was a fucking masochist. He loved getting hurt. And while at first, this thought terrified Morty, (he’s an old fucking man, he’s probably going to die of a heart attack from one of these stunts one day) he quickly finds himself enjoying it.

Morty doesn’t like to read too much into this, the fact that he likes seeing his grandfather in pain, but he suspects it has something to do with the fact that he blames Rick for the person he is.

Callous and unforgiving. Blunt and disappointing. But he’s so damn honest about it all that Morty often has a hard time holding these traits against the old shit. Rick is a fucking asshole, but at least he’s upfront about it. 

But there was something about seeing his grandfather’s face, twisted and cringing, that brings a certain sense of…accomplishment to Morty. He’d been hurt so many times by Rick, he wanted to give it back, just a little.

Rick’s tongue pushes past Morty’s lips, demanding and forceful. Morty opens up for him, breathing and tasting the alcohol. He feels dizzy for a moment, but Rick is there to steady him.

“You just gunna be a-a fucking tease all day or are you gunna take those boxers off?” Rick murmurs, nipping at Morty’s neck.

Wordless, the younger boy slips out of the constricting material, feeling his cock spring free, tip oozing with precum.

“That’s it,” Rick purrs, hand trailing down the younger boy’s back, flitting over the curve of his ass to rest between the cleft of his cheeks.

“…A-Ah!”

“Morty.”

“W-What is it, Rick?”

“Tell me how badly you want me. I-I want to hear you say it.”

Rick’s hand teases Morty’s opening briefly before pulling away. He brings his finger to Morty’s lips, telling him to spit, before resuming his place circling the hole slowly.

Morty’s cheeks darken hotly. “Aw, c'mon Rick, do I have t-to?”

Rick smirks, eyes playful and dangerous. He knows he doesn’t have to answer this question because seconds later Morty is squirming and panting and whining his need to have Rick’s cock rammed inside of him all the way to the hilt, and, “please just fuck me already, shit.”

Something bigger replaces Rick’s bony finger then, poised at the boy’s tight entrance.

“Look at me, Morty.”

Morty opens his eyes, and locks them with Rick’s. He studies the hard lines of his grandfather’s face: the grey skin, the long, pointed nose, the way his lips part slightly to breathe…

He thinks then, that he might be in love with this man. In love with this man who drags him out of bed at three in the fucking morning to go halfway across the galaxy for who knows what, but it’s so important to my research, Morty. Who chastises and makes fun of him with every passing opportunity. Who is so fucked up in the head that he thinks he can get away with self medicating forever.

Who protects him. Who cares about him but won’t ever admit it.

Morty thinks to himself that if there’s a Hell he’s sure he’s going there because in what world is it okay to be in love with your grandfather? Please, point him in the direction of the universe where it’s socially acceptable to be in an open relationship with the father of your mother.

It’s then - with Rick’s cock shoved all the way up his ass - that Morty knows they’re doomed. What is it that they’re doing? What game are they playing? They will never be able to be happy together. They’ll never be anything more than this: hiding and sneaking around in the garage or Rick’s bedroom when his parents aren’t around.

And the even scarier part is, Morty isn’t entirely sure Rick would even want more, if given the chance. Does he feel the same way? Does he want Morty just as bad or is he just another outlet, another way to forget about his own self-hatred for a few minutes?

Morty moans, feeling every inch of Rick sliding in and out of him, bringing them both closer and closer to the finish line. “Fuck, Morty. You’re so fucking tight. So fucking…”

“Yes, Rick, please, f-fuck me harder…”

And as the pressure mounts and builds, Morty feels his eyes burning with these unanswered questions. His vision blurs, and all he can do is screw his eyes shut tightly and bury his face in the crook of Rick’s neck before he can see, panting and thrusting, begging and wishing and wondering…

There were twenty four scars on Rick’s arm. Morty vows to himself that this will be the last time he counts them. The last time he’ll ask for a story behind Rick’s pain. He can’t, no, he won’t be just another cut that takes a few weeks to heal then is forgotten about. He refuses to be blended into the background pushed aside in favor of whatever alien or creature Rick decides to bury himself in that day. He’s a fucking masochist, begging and writhing and asking to be hurt. Asking for someone to give him the pain he knows he so desperately deserves.

He’s a fucking masochist, but, as Morty feels the familiar tingle at the base of his spine, paired with his grandfather’s hot breath puffing out across his chest, slacking off his own need for release, Morty thinks he might just be one too.

**Author's Note:**

> come sin with me on tumblr! @schwifty-rick


End file.
